


Desperate Measures

by mific



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Electricity, Fanfiction, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, self-abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 01:16:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for kink_bingo 2009. The prompt was 'electricity'. <br/>The warnings above don't quite apply, but it is somewhat disturbing nonetheless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate Measures

~~o0o~~

 

It is strange now to reflect that so much resulted from so little: the lack of an umbrella.

I had been called out urgently to the sickbed of a local labourer. The poor man was gravely unwell, feverish and coughing in the throes of pneumonia. I did what I could, leaving instructions with his wife for his care. The fever would break overnight and he would either survive or perish - there was little else that medicine could do to influence the outcome.

Emerging from the family’s humble lodgings, I discovered that the weather had turned foul and was met by a drenching rain. In my earlier haste I had forgotten my umbrella at Baker Street, so was forced to walk some distance through winding, narrow alleyways, soaked to the skin, before arriving at a thoroughfare large enough to allow me to hail a cab and escape the elements.

It was thus that I returned to Baker Street seeking a change of clothing at an unusual hour, rather than continuing my afternoon surgery. Mrs Hudson I knew to be absent on some domestic mission, and as I mounted the stairs, I heard his cries. The sounds were muffled by the door to his room, but I recognised Holmes’ voice, distorted though it was by pain, and by something else I could not then identify.

I was gripped by anxiety: was he unwell? Had some villain forced entry and attacked him? Dark visions beset me as I knocked furiously on the door, crying “Holmes! Holmes, are you all right? What is wrong?”

There was a long silence, then I heard his voice, low and hoarse. “I am entirely well, Watson, it is nothing.”

“I know what I heard Holmes, you were in pain. Please, open the door so that I may reassure myself that you are not injured.”

“Damn it Watson, will you not leave me be and stop interfering!” His voice was high pitched, strained and irritable. It did nothing to calm my fears, inflaming me further.

“I will not! Either open this door or I will break it down, Holmes. I can hear that you are suffering. All is patently _not_ well and I must insist-”

The door was flung open and an extraordinary sight met my eyes. Holmes was naked except for his silk robe, which he clutched about him, shielding his groin. Thick black wires led from the robe’s hem to a polished wooden case. It measured about eighteen inches on each side, and the wires were bolted to metal protuberances on top of the case, which had a circular glass window on the side with an arc of numbers and a thin metal hand, rather like the hand of a clock, set at the one o’clock position. On the upper surface of the case was what seemed to be a lever, again made of metal, with a smoothly carved wooden handle.

“What-?” I stared in puzzlement at the contraption on the floor, then back at my friend. He was pale and sweaty with a spot of high colour on each cheekbone. He stood, immobile, gazing at me with a most peculiar expression in which chagrin, excitement and anger were evident.

He did not look well, and I moved to take his pulse but he flinched away, holding fast to his robe. “No, please, do not-” He swallowed, shutting his eyes briefly and frowning, then cursed softly. “Damn it to hell Watson, why could you not…”

“Leave you to whatever mad venture you are embarked upon?” My brows drew together. For a man so brilliant he could be an utter fool sometimes, risking himself in reckless experiments. “I think not. You were in pain, Holmes, and I will not be deterred until I am assured that you are in no danger. What is this box, these wires? Why are they attached to you?” _Where are they attached to you?_ I was filled with sudden, horrified comprehension. “No, Holmes, surely you are not, you have not-”

I stepped forward and wrenched open his robe, aghast at the sight before me. A bizarre apparatus was mounted on his groin with leather straps running around his hips and between his legs. To my horror I saw that his member was encased in a cage of coiled metal; the black wires connecting to the base of the coil. I averted my eyes; his member was erect within the gruesome contraption.

Holmes glared at me in pained defiance. “It is an electrotherapeutic device. I read of it in a…publication…and arranged its delivery by post. The inventor is an American gentleman, I believe.”

“Dear God, Holmes,” I cried. “An electrical device? Like the ‘Galvanic Belt’ or some such? But what-?” I leaned over and concentrated on the box itself. There was a label on the side: “Dr Porter’s Patented Electrotherapeutic Relief”. Smaller print below the title read: “Guaranteed to prevent unwanted physical responses and limit elongation. For the cure of disorders arising from an excess of nervous excitation.”

Holmes had pulled the robe about himself again and was looking away from me, his mouth set in a sullen line. Some of the terms in his muttered explanation were beyond my experience: “A galvanic storage device within the box generates the charge. The lever releases a burst of electricity.”

“But why, Holmes, why harm yourself with this horrible thing? Good Lord, No wonder you were in pain!”

“I purchased it initially so as to try to manage my…inappropriate reactions. To control involuntary responses.”

“Inappropriate reactions? Reactions to what?”

He laughed harshly. “To whom, Watson, to whom.”

I was baffled. Reactions? Responses? He was talking in riddles.

Holmes hunched his shoulders, avoiding my eyes, then slumped, sighing. “To you, Watson, my responses to _you_. There seems little point concealing it further, since you have invaded my privacy and forced me into these disclosures. I…react to you most strongly. I desire you.” He swallowed painfully, staring at the floor between us, tensed as though awaiting a blow.

My thoughts and emotions were in turmoil. Holmes desired _me_? I had had no inkling of his feelings. Yes, we were friends and companions, and I had been aware for some time that my feelings for him went well beyond those bounds, but I had not thought he could possibly reciprocate my longings. I shook my head, confused: “You want _me_? But you are wearing that appalling thing so as to eradicate those feelings!”

He barked a short laugh. “I am afraid that it has proved completely ineffectual in that regard, indeed, I have become somewhat dependant on the device - on the stimulation it provides. It is a little painful, yes, but not damaging at low dosages, and there is pleasure…” He lifted one pale hand from his robe and rubbed his face tiredly. “I knew that you would not understand, that you would be appalled by my feelings, so I became reliant on the machine for…stimulation.”

He looked stricken and I was filled by a rush of sympathy. “My dear fellow, Holmes, I…let me get that damned thing off you, please, I can’t bear to see you in it a moment longer.”

He protested vaguely, trying to prevent me from opening his robe, but I was firm, as with any recalcitrant patient. The straps were difficult to unbuckle, however, and in my concentration on the task I failed to notice the proximity of the wooden case. My leg knocked against the lever, sending a stinging, buzzing pulse through my left hand which had been in contact with the coiled metal cage. Holmes arched against me, crying out in pain and ecstasy, gripping me tightly and thrusting the metal coil hard against my thigh.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry dear fellow, I struck it by accident, I’m sorry Holmes, I didn’t mean-” I was babbling, holding him to me while I stroked his back and the nape of his neck, overcome by the need to touch him, to comfort him.

He shuddered in my arms, finally relaxing as I continued to hold him close. “You should have said something,” I whispered into his neck. “I could have saved you from this…this infernal nonsense.”

“Watson…” He murmured against my ear. “Can I dare hope…?”

“Yes, you idiot. Now let me get this ghastly thing off you.”

“Wait, wait, let me show you…” He fumbled with my damp clothing, kissing and biting at my neck as he worked open my trouser buttons. Then his hands were on me, stroking me, and I shuddered in his arms, desire swelling as I responded to his touch.

The cool spiralling metal of the cage separating us registered a moment too late as he pressed it against my length, whispering in my ear. “You’ll see John, you’ll like it, just let me, let me show you-”

Then he reached for the lever.

~~o0o~~ 

It was easier to remove the appalling object from his body after I had laid him out cold with my fists. He fancied himself quite the prize-fighter but I was powerfully motivated by the still-painful spasms in my abused groin.

Holmes came to his senses in bed. I had stripped off my wet clothing and abandoned it, wrapping myself around him to warm my chilled limbs. We curled together, my chest pressed to his back, our legs tangled, as he surveyed the mangled heap of shattered wood, tangled wires and flattened metal on the rug.

“I take it you are not enamoured with Dr Porter’s invention?” he asked.

“I don’t foresee a large market for it, no,” I responded, equally dry. “And you have no further need of the device.”

“Ah,” he said, turning and sliding his arms around me. “And why would that be?”

For a man so brilliant he could be an utter fool sometimes. I stopped his mouth with a kiss.

~~o0o~~

**Author's Note:**

> Machines such as Holmes resorted to did in fact exist, rather worryingly. A mad C19th American anti-masturbationist created one very like that in the story.


End file.
